


Tainting Thomas

by TheEntitysHooker



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Coercion, Multi, Other, Public Humiliation, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Tension, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEntitysHooker/pseuds/TheEntitysHooker
Summary: Upon nearing her 666th escape, Meg Thomas begins to unravel the sinister secrets of the Entity's Realm. What she discovers will ultimately change everything she ever knew about the prison she and her friends have found themselves trapped in and rekindle the lust the killers have for her flesh.
Relationships: David King/Meg Thomas, F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Meg Thomas
Comments: 23
Kudos: 27





	1. Six-Hundred-and-Sixty-Six

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!!PLEASE READ THIS!!!!!!!
> 
> This story was started before Freddy's proposed changes and before the introduction of the Archives. The story will progress as it has been written thus far and will be adjusted accordingly to the published lore changes in the game. 
> 
> Each chapter has a main storyline as well as a NSFW snippet associated with the chapter. The main chapters have all been rated Mature for their sexual implications and the violence associated with the material while the NSFW chapters have been labeled as Explicit due to their sexual content and inappropriate subjects. The characters portrayed in this fanfic are as accurate to their personalities as possible, therefore, there will be many questionable topics covered throughout the story. Consider this your warning going forward for the entirety of the piece. 
> 
> I do not condone the actions taken by the characters of this fanfiction and would never consider acting on such impulses. This fanfiction is merely a safe place to explore the multiple, realistic facets of human nature when placed in such a scenario as the Entity's Realm.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

That was Meg Thomas’ mantra every night for three years and tonight was no exception. It was how she kept her exhaustion in check – or, at least at bay – during her trials.

Terror was no stranger to her as she dipped behind a generator to begin working on it, nimble fingers reaching into the mouth of the metal monster, hoping there wasn’t a hex on these ones.

“Yowch,” she hissed as the sparks erupted around her, singeing her hands as she continued to work. There was _definitely_ a hex on the damn thing. She’d have to be extra precise if she wanted to escape for the night – seeing as tonight was Poker Night, Meg wanted to make it out alive. The alternative was… too unpleasant to consider.

_Focus,_ she reprimanded herself. They were so close. _Only two more generators,_ she encouraged herself as she worked. A generator off in the distance finished. A scream of pain followed, and she knew it was Feng Min eating dirt. Meg rolled her eyes, wondering if Feng wasn’t doing it on purpose to try to skip out on Poker Night. Poor Dwight had already been taken out, so it was only Jane, Feng, and her left.

She had to commit to the generator. Jane would have to be the one to go in and save Feng. She had brought a flashlight, so it was their best play. Hopefully she could blind their killer with it. Buy the team more time. The generator was just over halfway done, but unless Jane could get the killer to drop Feng, Meg knew there wouldn’t be enough time for her to finish it before her teammate was sacrificed to the Entity.

Even as she thought it, she heard Feng Min’s final cries of pain before insectoid branches carved into her flesh. A cloud thundered above Feng’s final resting place, summoning her body to the Otherside.

Meg shuddered at the thought.

Another cry of pain, this time from Jane.

Seventy-five percent completed, the generator was chugging along now. If only their newest teammate could loop the killer for just a little while longer, Meg could just– Jane screamed out in terror as she was pulled straight out of a locker.

A locker that Meg could see from where she squatted by the generator, realigning gears and wires. Terror seized her again as she took in the monster chasing them tonight: he was the flashier one of the group, of the Legion… his name was Joey, or Joe. Meg hated going against any of the Legion, but especially Joe. He was the cruelest of the four, and the most terrifying, if she had to be honest. Frank, their leader, was nothing but a joke to her with his goofy, crude, smiling mask, but Joe? Meg was careful around Joe.

It took no time for him to hook Jane. The inexperienced survivor had essentially given Joe a free sacrifice. The sky crackled menacingly as it took her up next, up to the Otherside. Jane was _also_ going to be missing Poker Night, it seemed.

Joe disappeared from sight and Meg removed her hands from the generator she was working on just as she heard the hatch get slammed closed from somewhere nearby. Her heart rate was through the roof as she stood there, weighing her options for survival. The new rules the Entity provided them with recently had changed the way they all did things to escape. She would have to be careful and stealthy if she wanted to escape this trial now.

A familiar red light flashed around the corner of the wall nearest her, throwing her plans right out the window.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?”

As she heard him call out to her, shivers crawled up and down her spine. It was nothing more than a cocky warning, but the threat in his voice set her senses alight. She bolted, hoping her short respite on the generator had given her just enough juice for one last run against the Legion.

He was on her trail like a hound, Meg could hear his panting feet away from her. She would need to get a pallet between them if she expected to escape. Like switching gears in a sports car, Meg hightailed it towards an area she knew had them in abundance. Joe trailed behind her, his breathing getting louder and louder.

The first area she visited had remnants of a pallet scattered over the ground. The splinters were freshly pressed into the mud from being stepped over a few times. Meg pushed on.

The breathing was closer now, very close.

The next area, only shards of a pallet greeted her.

He was right behind her now, she was certain of it. She could hear him growl out in agony as his special ability wore off right as she cycled to the third place she knew would have them. Surely _this _pallet still--

Her heart sank.

No. Pallet.

“Looking for something?”

There was barely any time to react before Joe was on top of her. He threw his entire weight down, pinning her against the wall where the pallet once leaned. Meg felt the air whoosh from her lungs as her back collided with brick.

Joe was petrifying tonight, choosing to wear his skull mask to terrorize them with. Dark eyes drank in her terror through the holes in his mask. There was a smirk hidden underneath the white paint, tormenting her, taunting her – of this she had no doubt about it.

“We’re sorry to have to tell you this,” his curved blade pressed itself into her cheek, the metal cold until it ran hot with her blood, “but your teammates left nothing for you to use. Most of the pallets in this area have been wasted.”

“Figures,” Meg muttered, leaning her head back against the wall, “no one on my team really wanted to go to Poker Night tonight anyway,”

She waited for Joe to whisk her off to the nearest hook. Blood trickled down from the fresh cut on her cheek as her legs trembled from exhaustion. Her back ached from where he had deeply wounded her with his knife. She wanted the pain of the evening’s trial to end. To sacrifice her weakened body and start over.

“Poker Night?” Legion snickered under his mask. There was something about the way he cocked his head at her that made Meg uneasy. It wasn’t even that she was afraid of him, oh no. Meg was beyond that at this point. After one-thousand-ninety-five days, the monsters scared her less now than ever before. She found them irritating, mainly. Obstacles between her and her way out. Out from whatever realm that _thing_… the Entity, kept them prisoner in.

No, this look was something else. Something more sinister.

Meg pushed out her hands in anticipation of what was to come.

Joe leaned in anyway. He pressed himself on her and she gasped for air at the force, her hands burying themselves into his jacket. The thick material of the hoodie was barely grabbable anyway, her hands desperately trying to push away a being with far more strength and power than she could even imagine.

He stared at her with cold eyes as she gasped for air, “We could kill you now, you know,” – the words weren’t mean. They were soft. Painfully so – “but… we’re in a good mood today, especially after such a _thrilling_ performance from you.” Joe tilted his head once more in the way only he ever did, stroking her bloody face with the flat of his blade, “Besides, we hear you’re almost at your six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth escape. Congratulations, Meg Thomas. Others won’t be as inclined to be… merciful.”

Meg wanted to gag. A killer? Being merciful? And of all of them, _Joe_?

… Was today backwards day?

There was a snicker at her reaction, Legion reveling in the disgust and contempt she had for him and the others. His eyes glowed with glee as he ran a gloved finger over her wounded cheek… almost…

_No, _her mind recoiled at the suggestion that Joe was showing her signs of… her head spun at the concept of a killer showing her any form of… of _tenderness_.

Then as quickly as it had begun, the Legion stepped back, “Goodbye, Meg Thomas. Make sure to catch up on your reading, eh?” He winked before shoving away from her, dashing away into the fog and leaving her to find a gate to escape out from.

Meg felt her legs give out as she collapsed into the wall behind her, the stressful sweat of the evening making her clothing cling to her skin. Gasping for air did little to comfort her as the words of Legion swam through her mind.

Only those few words echoed in Meg’s mind: _Six-hundred-and-sixty-six_.


	2. Illuminated

The first twinkling of dawn burst over the horizon as she raced out of the trial area for the night, leaving the Shelter Woods realm far behind and panting from the strain. This part had always filled her with hope and pride. Now only dread and worry consumed her thoughts. What was so special about her six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth escape? Why would it matter?

When she reached the encampment, she was immediately greeted by Claudette, one of her long-time friends. They hugged, desensitized to the blood and gore that covered them both.

“Just you?” she asked, casting a customary glance behind the returning survivor to see if anyone else would emerge from the fog.

Meg shook her head as she tried to catch her breath, “Just me.”

She debated whether to confide in Claudette the strange actions of the Legion that night during her trial. Would it be too weird? Would it make them worry? She didn’t want to do that to them, either. Based on the look on Claudette’s face, they were already worried enough.

“What about you?”

Claudette turned towards the campfire, “Just Jake and me. Dwight and Jeff weren’t so lucky.” They picked their way through the grass to the campfire that never burned out.

“Who did you face?”

“Huntress, you?”

Meg’s heart raced, “Legion.”

“I hate those guys,” Claudette made a face, “always talking in ‘we’ and ‘us’. _Super_ creepy and _super_ arrogant all the time, ugh.”

“Agreed,” she let out a hollow laugh, _you have no idea._

Ace raised his head from the deck of cards he was shuffling, “Who you kids talkin’ about?”

“Legion,” Claudette piped, “Meg had to face Joe today.”

“Joe, huh?” Ace glanced over once at Meg and did a double-take, “Whoa, what in the _hell_ happened to you, Meg? Looks like Legion played with you a little _too_ much,”

At that, Meg felt heat rising to her cheeks, “Y-yeah, he sure did,”

“Well, you should go on and get showered, we’re still waiting on one more trial to end,” Claudette insisted but Meg didn’t need to be told twice. She wanted to wash _everything_ about this night away.

* * *

Showering usually made Meg feel better. It was the best part of the day, when she could wash off the muck and viscera of a victory trial. She was alone with her thoughts during these moments and, today, that wasn’t such a good thing.

All she could think about was Joe. About the way he looked at her with those animalistic eyes… she was both revolted and bewitched at the sudden awe that had washed over Legion’s gaze when he had announced her six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth escape coming up. The way he had stroked her with the knife as he regarded her... Meg’s heart thundered in her chest as she shook her head.

No, she was reading too far into it.

_Reading_, the word echoed and called up the last thing Legion had said to her. To catch up on her reading. What had Joe meant by that? There was only one place that she knew that had books… and she was showering right next door to it. There was a library at the heart of the facility, but there was no telling who would be patrolling the area at this hour. Though this realm currently had no trial going on, it wasn’t uncommon for the monsters to be lurking through the halls, punishing wandering survivors who strayed too far from their designated “safe” areas.

Curiosity nagged at her until she succumbed to the idea of at least taking a look through the library for something of interest. Though she had no inkling of what she might find, the thought that Joe was telling her something of value couldn’t be passed up. Meg decided that she would investigate.

* * *

As soon as she dried her hair and pulled it all into her usual braid, the copper-headed track-star packed up her stuff and crept her way towards the library. Lery’s was an eerie place with the television screens screaming around her. The generators were all powered down, prepared for a trial if the Entity summoned them to this part of the realm.

Meg slunk through the library’s entrance and glanced over all the books. The room was dark without the generator powered, but Meg’s eyes adjusted enough so she could read the titles of the books in the low light. Her fingers traced the spines of each one, trying to make out the names. A lot of them were manuals on torture, bondage, and anatomy guides, all topics that made Meg more than a little uncomfortable.

There was suddenly a heated presence against her back and a knife on her lips.

“Shhh,” the sound was a deep purr against her ear as _he_ whispered into it, “we had our doubts that you would actually come.” Meg struggled against an arm that only wrapped itself tighter around her waist, like a snake with a mouse.

“Now that you’re here,” Joe continued, unfettered, “we’re curious to know what you were actually expecting to find.”

Meg felt her cheeks flare red with embarrassment and hate. Truthfully, she had no idea what Legion had even meant by telling her the comment. What had she been expecting, really? Now it only seemed silly that she had come to investigate his cryptic message, just to fall back into his trap.

Joe relished his position of power, his voice so, _so_ close to her ear, she could hear the gravel in it, “You survivors trust so easily. Again and again, you try to escape, and for what? Haven’t you ever wondered, Meg Thomas?”

_Every night I wonder_, she thought with bitterness. She side-eyed him, the knife blade still pressed to her rosy lips.

Meg could feel the heat rising from his body. It was like standing beside the Campfire. Or in it. The heat was… intense, unbearable… strangely comforting? There was something being pushed into her chest and she reached up with one hand to grab it. As her fingers brushed over whatever it was, Joe’s temperament clicked, and he growled in a voice so menacing, Meg felt her knees quake, “This is our secret, do you understand?”

Meg mustered herself and gave a single, silent nod.

A growl of approval before he pulled away, “That’s a good girl.”

Something in her begged to run as his bloody gaze poured over her freshly showered body. The horrid red stain lingered over her chest, whether to eye the object he handed off to her or to eye something else, Meg loathed to consider, “Until our next trial, then, _Meg Thomas_.”

And just like that, Joe was gone.


	3. It Begins

When Meg returned to the campfire, everyone there was already sitting around in a circle, a pile of goodies gathered in the center. Seemed like a few others had made it out of their trials. Claudette and Jake had survived their trial; Nea, David, and Ash had survived theirs; and Meg had been the sole survivor of hers. Ace was the only one who had gotten the day off, courtesy of the Entity.

Ace waved at her, “You comin’?”

“Feeling kind of tired tonight. You guys play without me.”

Ace shrugged, “Suit yourself,”

Every survivor had their own “shack” where they gathered their items and offerings, the clothes that the Entity gifted them, and where they could rest between trials. Meg entered hers and fumbled to find the flashlight she kept by the door. A resounding click and the room lit up.

She made her way to the opposing wall where a collection of different colored tally marks were scratched into the wall. She shined the flashlight on the scratches, counting the green markings – the signs of her escapes. She was at six-hundred-and-fifty-six. Well… six-hundred-and-fifty-seven, if she counted the escape from Legion that day. She marked the day off with a green stick of chalk. She needed nine more escapes to get to the number Legion mentioned.

Six-hundred-and-sixty-six.

Why was that number important?

Her hands trembled as she pulled out the object Joe had given her from her backpack. It was a book. A journal, to be more exact. She recognized the cover. It was from a guy by the name of Benedict Baker. He was a survivor, as far as Meg could remember from the writings she had read of his so far, but the book had disappeared around the time of the Entity’s last blight. The journal had been somewhat of a guide for them, teaching them about the killers, the hatch, the red stain, all of it. When it had disappeared, there was some moaning about it, but the journal was quickly forgotten about after so many trials and passing days. Even as Meg cracked open the book, she had forgotten about the drawings and sketches Baker had left for them.

Where was he now, she wondered. Had the Entity consumed him? Meg flipped to the last page with writing on it. Her eyes skimmed the page until she read the part that stirred something within her. She read it half out-loud, “_During the hunt, my time is restrained. I learn more and more but my hope and sanity deplete faster and faster. What is to become of me? Have the Killers started out at this Campfire too? I bid this journal adieu. I must focus on staying alive._”

_‘Have the Killers started out at this Campfire too?’_

Meg felt a chill rattle her core as she read the passage again.

A terrible thought breached her consciousness. It was a thought that she wished she could have thrown away as quickly as it had come: had the Killers once been survivors… like her?

There was a knock at her door and she scrambled to push the book into her backpack before she turned to face David entering. He was a well-built man, so he took up a good portion of the shanty door as he came in.

“David,” Meg greeted, blinking with confusion as he stood there.

“Meg,” he nodded to her, his voice that creamy Manchester accent that Claudette, Nea, and Meg all swooned over, “I’m… sorry to mither ya, but… I, uh, couldin’t ‘elp but notice, ya seemed a bit…” he shrugged, bobbing his head back and forth as the word came to him, “worked up? When ya got back from yer shower.”

The heat rose to her cheeks once more that evening as David approached her, his burliness a nice change of pace from the lithe muscles of the Legion. He was one of the tallest of the male survivors, and that was evident from the way he towered over her, “Claudette said ya seemed a bit outta sorts when ya came back from yer trial…”

She smiled at him, trying to put his worry at ease, “Yeah, it just doesn’t feel like I won tonight, you know?”

He nodded in understanding, then placed a thick hand on her shoulder, “Listen ta me, Meg. If anyone of them Legion _fuckers_ touched ya--” her lips found their way to his, forcing him to stop right where he was going with that. David didn’t need to know. She didn’t _want_ him, or anyone, to know. She just wanted to forget. Forget Legion, forget Joe, forget the Entity. Just… _forget_.

David was taken back by the sudden forcefulness of his companion though he wasn’t complaining about it. Something was bugging her. He knew Meg Thomas long enough to know when the red-head was holding something back. But she would tell them in due time. Whenever she was ready, she would tell them. Until then, if it was a proper bumping that she needed right now, David King could _definitely_ provide.

Frank whistled a merry little tune as he sharpened his blade with a honing stone he had earned from Evan. The metal sang along with him as he slid the stone over it again and again, sharper and sharper. He barely glanced up from his work as Herman came upon him, eyes forced wide open with the strange apparatus that he wore. His mouthpiece was unhinged, a sign that the good Doctor wanted to chat.

“Frank,” Herman began, “we need to talk.”

The Legion leader finished sharpening his blade with one long, final stroke before giving his full attention to Herman, “What’s up, doc?”

Not amused with Frank’s antics, Herman was quick to the point, “One of the books is missing from the library. A survivor’s journal. Benedict’s. It’s useful to the survivors as it has vital information about the realm and the Entity… and with Meg Thomas so close to her six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth escape--”

“Wait, you don’t think we stole it, do you?” Frank’s eyebrows raised along with the incredulousness in his voice, “We understand that we have had our past disagreements about the fate of the survivors, Carter, but we would never consider taking something of such value and giving it to them.”

Herman shook his head, “I’m _just_ letting everyone know that it’s missing.”

Frank held up a hand, “Say no more, doctor. We understand. Want us to try to help you find it?”

The Doctor considered the offer for a moment, “Perhaps. But if the survivors happen to have it, the chances that they will simply and willingly hand over the book are not high at all. It was challenging enough to steal it away from them during the Entity’s Blight season. To try to do it again without the assistance of such a distraction will not be so easy.”

“You’re assuming they have it, then?” Joe entered the conversation, emerging from a doorway beside where Frank stooped to work on his blade.

Herman studied Joe as he spoke, “You are the last ones I have visited about this. I doubt any of the killers have any interest in a journal written by a survivor prior to being Awakened. If the journal is missing, it is only because a survivor must have taken it,” he then added as an afterthought, “or that someone has _given_ it to them. Which reminds me,” his bulging eyes were locked onto Joe who was still wearing his mask and hood, “didn’t _you_ have a trial with Meg Thomas today?”

Joe could feel the heat of Frank’s prying gaze as Herman moved to interrogate him. Joe laughed, trying to play it down as best as he could, “We did. And guess what? We let her go,”

Frank stiffened even as the Doctor came down on Joe, a thick hand grabbing the strap to his single-shoulder bag. Carter pulled him close, “_You-let-her-_go?” The whispering, punctuating tone he used for each word was something the Legion personalities had never seen outside of the trials.

“Easy, man,” Joe pushed Herman away from him, “yeah, we let her go. What of it? The way we see it, the more beasts, the easier the work. When Meg Thomas joins us, imagine what hideous atrocity our Mother will twist her into. What crime will she commit? What chaos will she create? Aren’t you the least bit interested?”

“That is not for us to interfere,” another voice joined them. They turned in time to witness Philip uncloaking from the shadows of the hallway behind them, “Joe, you play with the balance of our Mother’s realm.”

Joe scowled, frustration clear in his voice, “We don’t see what the problem is with… encouraging the inevitable,”

This time, Frank was the one to get physical, shoving hard at Joe’s shoulder to spin him around to face him. He looked over Joe with a cold expression, eyebrows knit, “What the fuck is wrong with you lately? Did you actually… did you actually _do_ something… _with_ her?”

This time it was Joe’s cheeks that flared up to a nice rosy color. His heart thudded in his ears as Herman took greater interest in the sudden exchange between the two masculine personalities of Legion. Joe needed to stop this before it got too misunderstood, “No! We didn’t do anything _with_ her. We just… well, look, we just played around with her for a little bit. B-but nothing happened. Her potential is… we are… _just_ _curious_. That’s all.”

The killers around him stood in silence, judging and coming to their own conclusions about Joe’s words and motives.

“And the book?” Herman probed Joe further.

He crossed his arms and avoided eye contact with everyone around him as he lied, “We haven’t seen the damn thing in a long time.”

Herman leaned in. As a psychologist he had come to learn when people were lying to him. Joe was doing an exceptional job of it. Herman was eager to pry the truth from him but a familiar tingle in the back of their minds called out for them, beckoned them to join _her_ in the heart of the realm. He would get the answers he sought from their Mother Entity.

Like beacons honing in on a signal, or flies to a source of light in the dark, they obeyed her command, trudging their way like zombies through the halls and out of Lery’s, into the never-ending night air that nibbled at their deadened senses. No one spoke as they stepped through the tall grass. Their breathing and the swish of greenery against their clothes were the only sounds to accompany them.

A lone wolf howled in the distance as they entered the Foundry, long abandoned from what its original purpose was. Just a shade of its former glory. They stopped where they had been called, all of them in a perfect line right in front of the smelting pot. The others came ambling through the wilderness from different parts of the realm around them, but they all took their silent places on the lineup. Hands behind their backs, they stared forward at the pot, obedient, quiet, waiting for instructions from their Mother, their Master, the Entity.

When they had all arrived, her voice echoed through their minds as clear as crystal singing, “Welcome,” they all collectively shuddered from the force of it. Joe steadied himself with a long breath as he prepared for the wrath that was surely to come raining down on him for his actions.

Another howl pierced the air and the unholy meeting began.


	4. Obedience

Meg rubbed her eyes, encouraging them to stay open. To stay awake. To continue reading. When David had left her to join the others, she had opened the journal at the very beginning, where Benedict wrote about his research prior to the day he had awoken in the fog. When she reached the oh-too-familiar part of Benedict’s first moments in the Entity’s realm, it was heart-wrenching. To read someone else’s thoughts on the situation she was currently in… it was like an echo from the past, predicting her future.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

The other survivors had long gone to bed, calling it a night when Ace managed to cream them once again with his uncanny luck. Meg couldn’t help but shake her head and smile as she heard them giving each other a hard time before leaving the Campfire to hit the hay. As far as Meg knew, she was the only one awake. The only sounds of the night were the Campfire crackling and the small gusts of wind rustling leaves around her, punctuated by the sporadic turning of journal pages. No sounds of screaming, no chainsaws in the distance, and no panting, nasty Legion.

For that, Meg was grateful.

Each entry of the journal was accompanied by a detailed sketch of familiar objects and people. The Trapper’s cruel mask, the blades of the Nightmare’s glove, a pallet leaning against a tractor. They were accurate in their representation. In an entry about the pallets, Meg was shocked to discover that the Entity prevented the killers from interfering with their standing position. Some sort of rule that they abided by, according to Baker.

She had just flipped over to the next page – Baker’s entry about the Doctor – when a sudden gust of wind rattled all the survivors’ shanty shelters. Boards clattered and shook against the invisible force. Then, in an instant, the camp was cast into uncomfortable darkness. For the first time since Meg had arrived in the Entity’s realm, the Campfire went out. Meg’s heart thundered in her chest as she immediately gripped the flashlight she was using to read tighter, closing the journal and flicking the light to the door of her shack.

Were the others okay? Were they awake? Did they notice, too?

The wind had died with the flames, leaving no sound in the night. Stillness rung.

There was definitely something outside, she could hear the bushes rustling, footsteps coming closer, and the heartbeat that now pounded in her ears was screaming for her to run. But something else told her to stay, whispered it into her mind like injecting dye into water. It conflicted with her desire to survive.

…Was it the Campfire that kept the monsters away?

Meg slowly sat up in her bed, rigid as a plank, waiting for _something_ to happen.

* * *

She was cute half-asleep, staring at the front door of her shack house. She was probably tired after her recent trial against the Legion. So tired she didn’t even bother checking the window that a dark figure stood at. It didn’t help that she was trying to stay awake to read Baker’s journal, either. Joe had nearly fucked them all with that, but good, ole Freddy was here to help fix everything.

The moment he tried to put her to sleep, he knew _just_ how Meg Thomas would react. After almost three years, oh yeah, Freddy could comfortably say that he knew _exactly_ how each survivor acted when the sleepiness hit. Meg Thomas was the runner. At the first sign of trouble, she was always the first to bolt. Not out of fear, but because she knew that her speed was her best strategy to keep off the hook… unless they could catch up to her. With three other teammates, Meg had a chance to get away. In this scenario, however, it was only her and him. Freddy had personally made sure that all her fellow survivor friends were in the deepest sleep of their lives before he rotated to Meg’s piece-of-shit hovel.

Freddy reached his free hand out and performed a come-hither motion, the sleep demons eager to obey and pull her under. He let out a dark chuckle as he watched Meg’s head lull to the side – a sign that his power was beginning to take root. As predicted, the survivor girl shot to her feet, one hand clutching her flashlight while the other held the source of all their troubles: the journal. She gripped it like a map as she bolted towards the window to vault it.

He held out his arms, ready for her to literally jump into them.

Meg hesitated, just in time to fall into the Sleep Realm and see Freddy on the other side of her window. She gasped and took a step back as Freddy swung at her. His claws slashed the air between them as she flashed the light mercilessly into his eyes. The Nightmare growled like a wolf as the light blinded him.

“Why are _you_ here?!” she demanded.

Stars spangled his vision even as he laughed, his voice deep and demonic, “You know why, _bitch_. Now give me the damn journal!”

“NO!”

He could hear her footsteps thundering out the front door, even as his vision returned to normal. Freddy stalked to the other side of the shelter to catch a quick glimpse of Meg Thomas plunging into the fog just past the snuffed-out Campfire.

Oh, how he liked these games.

With his claws outstretched, he power-walked after her, blue eyes scanning the woods as the fog rolled in thick around them. They were heading towards a realm that Meg and Freddy had been to many times in their trials together: Mount Ormond Resort. He knew what would be waiting for them there, but poor Meg didn’t. The poor bitch wouldn’t know what was going on until it hit her like a sack of bricks.

Freddy couldn’t wait to see the look on her proud face. He smirked as the trees started to thicken with snow. They were almost there.

* * *

Meg was exhausted.

No, exhausted was an understatement. She was worn out, beaten, drained. Dead would have been a better state. In a single day, Meg had endured a trial against the Legion where she had been doing most of the work and where she had received a deep stab wound to her back, she then had been assaulted, had had some one-on-one time with a mister David King, and then tried to stay up late reading a journal that she now clutched for dear life in her hand… sure, why not throw in a random, single-survivor trial late at night against the Nightmare? Oh yeah, no worries, Meg could handle it. After all, she was almost at her six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth escape _and _she had a flashlight, _clearly_ she could take this trial on, yup, no problem.

Her grouchiness was at its peak as she stumbled passed a bush covered in frost. She managed to step over a fresh pile of snow as she beelined for the main building.

Mount Ormond. _Great_. Her sour mood worsened.

It wasn’t her favorite place to perform trials, but the loops were strong and easy to learn. The Nightmare would have a hard time catching her here. To help her odds, she tucked the journal away under her shirt and into the back of her pants so that she could have a free hand to run faster and maintain her balance. Even jumping through windows was easier with at least one hand to assist her through it.

Meg had at least a small, fighting chance.

As she rounded the corner and entered the main building, however, Meg Thomas screeched to a grinding halt. It was a deer in headlights moment for her. Her half-asleep, half-awake brain couldn’t figure out what, exactly, she was staring at. Panic rippled through her as she realized that everything about this was wrong. So very, _very_ wrong.

The Trapper, the Hillbilly, and the Legion all loomed around the warmth of the fire burning in the center of the building, the hearth. Their eyes glinted with hunger in the flame’s light as they watched her with mute intrigue, arms crossed. Waiting. Meg tried to turn to run, but the Nightmare was already there, coming in hot.

Turning back, she gasped as she was grabbed by the front of her shirt and lifted right off her feet. Not at all following the rules the Entity had set forth. But the Trapper didn’t seem to care about those right now as he threw her to the ground at the feet of Legion and Hillbilly. The hearth’s warmth was the only comfort Meg felt as she rolled onto her back to face whatever fate they planned for her. Her only defense, the flashlight, clicked on to shine into the Trapper’s eyes, but her hand exploded with pain as the torch was kicked out of reach by the Hillbilly.

Meg let out a sharp cry of pain and drew her hand into her chest to nurse it.

“Where’s the journal?” Legion demanded.

Her blue eyes challenged him, her hate for each of the killers burning into every feature of her face. She could hear the sneers shared from the monsters that surrounded her, but it was the Trapper who growled out menacingly, “We see the defiance in your eyes, Meg Thomas. Do not deny us a second time. Outside of a trial, there is no death. Only pain,” he iterated his point by clipping her shoulder with his machete. Meg cried out again, louder, snapping out of the Dream World that Nightmare had pulled her into. Blood rushed to the wound and her hand went to it instinctively.

Why was the journal so important? The survivors had lost it once. Had the creatures taken it? She considered her position for a moment. They needed four killers to shake her down for it. Why? Why so many? Why didn’t they want her to have it?

Meg could barely breathe with the multiple red stains beaming down at her. She was not used to more than one stain at a time and the pounding of multiple heartbeats in her ears was deafening. Looking down at herself, it looked as if they had dumped buckets of blood over her head, their red stains were that thickly layered. She glanced down at her shaking hands, her right hand already bruising where the Hillbilly had kicked it and her left slick with the fresh blood from her shoulder.

“What…” she started, her voice dying in her throat. She forced the question out anyway, pushing through the fear of what the answer would be, “what’s… going to happen… to me… at six-hundred-and…sixty-six?”

Someone knelt down beside her. Legion, perhaps – she was apprehensive to glance at who it was, “The journal, Meg, if you don’t mind…”

A lump formed in her throat as she carefully reached behind her back to retrieve what they wanted. She could feel them noting her every move as she pulled it out. There was a moment of hesitation before she held it up to the Legion, not looking at any of them as she handed it over. Her bloody hand shook from the strain of holding it up to him. There was no fuss made, no fight to be had. Meg just wanted this terrible day to end.

Legion stood from his crouching position and handed the journal to Trapper. The brute seized the journal from the other killer with a low snarl, flipping through the pages to ensure that there were no tricks being played on them. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he bowed his head to his companions. Evan handed the book over to Max next and addressed the survivor before him, “What have you learned from this journal, Meg Thomas?”

Her heart leapt into her throat as he addressed her by her full name, his voice warped and terrible. It wasn’t often that they spoke to the survivors. Especially not the Trapper. His voice was unfamiliar to Meg.

Terror pounded through her veins as she decided to answer his question with a question of her own, “…Did you used to be a survivor once, too, Evan MacMillan?”

Stars danced across her vision as her head collided with the floor. It took her a moment to realize what had happened as her forehead exploded with pain from her right temple. Something hot tickled her skin as it dripped down. She was barely able to reach up and touch the new bleeding wound when a thick hand clenched a good amount of her shirt and hoisted her up to her feet. The room spun and Meg let out a grunt of agony and fear.

His smiling mask was revoltingly close to her face now. So close, she could see eyes boiling with rage behind it, “_You_ will _not_ speak to _me_ in such a manner, survivor scum. You forget yourself,” he gave her a hard shake to remind her, “and the current, _mortal_ predicament you currently face.”

“Let’s just cut her open and force her to put her organs back inside.” Freddy suggested, his voice ethereal and his blades clicking together in earnest from where he lurked in the Sleep Realm.

Legion crossed his arms again, “I second that idea. Disembowel her, that should be enough to teach her a lesson.”

The only one who remained quiet was the Hillbilly, who watched with restrained intrigue as he breathed like a pug with a cold beside them all.

Trapper looked over Meg, for once taking in the extent of how beaten her body was for the evening. Joe had left little for them to play with… bruises and puckered lines where cuts graced her skin decorated the entirety of her body. There was little room for them to add more markings to her flesh, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t break her emotionally, spiritually. The Entity had given them all permission to do so that evening. Meg Thomas’ time was soon to come, she had told them, and they had been instructed to be especially cruel with her in any way they saw fit. It was, after all, part of the process.

He leaned forward with eyes closed and took a long, deep breath in.

Meg pushed herself as far away as she could manage, her hands pressing against the rubber of his jumper in her attempt, repulsed by the proximity of him. The Trapper himself smelled of sweat and blood, metal and tar, and from where he held her, Meg could feel the heat emanating from him just like she had with Legion before.

“Hmmm,” the Trapper rumbled, as he opened his eyes again, “I’m surprised I hadn’t noticed the _host_ of smells on you before.”

Meg’s face twitched as she remained very still. Terror and uncertainty coursed through her.

“Tell me… did you enjoy your time with David King?”

Her eyes widened and the Trapper lowered her as he simultaneously brought her in closer, that heat inescapable, “Oh yes, I can _easily_ smell him all over you. You _reek_ of his scent.”

Her face flushed a scarlet color, and the Trapper now understood why so many of his fellow hunters pined for this one. He’d never personally found her as appetizing as some of the other morsels but, oh yes, he could see why they might. Breaking Meg Thomas down now was a delicious honor that he refused to pass up.

Not when he had an audience.

He crushed her into his chest, relishing in the way she trembled in his grasp.

The others watched with cruel fascination as he continued, a little more softly this time, “But we’ve heard through the fog that there might be _someone else_ on your mind…”

Meg hissed, sickened by the words he spoke with disgusting glee, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Trapper let out a sinister chuckle, “No? Are you sure? Do you want me to bring _him_ in here for you? That might help to jostle your memory.”

Her heart thundered in her chest at the thought of facing Joe again. Meg squirmed harder against his grip. She slammed a fist down onto his dead chest with the only retort that she could muster: a pathetic, “F-fuck you!”

Nightmare and Legion both shared a snicker as Evan towered over the small survivor, “Be careful of the words you choose, Meg Thomas. Consider this your only warning. The next lie I catch coming from your lips, I will rip your tongue from your skull, do you understand?” He pressed his machete against her cheek to make his point clear, placing it parallel with the cut that Legion had adorned her with earlier.

Meg cast her gaze down in defeat, white-hot rage boiling her blood. Evan could feel it rising from her body like steam.

“Say. It.”

The survivor gritted out her response, “I… understand.”

Watching her this close to her Awakening was interesting to Evan. He’d seen only a few, _select_ survivors make it this far. It was a rarity. And then to have seen the process in its entirety, from the day she had arrived up until now, he was impressed with the Entity’s Mother’s ability to discern who would be a worthy addition to her realm and who would become nothing more than food for the fittest. Meg Thomas would make a fine killer, no matter what shape she would assume when she Awakened. Evan had faith in Her design.

“Good… goooood,” he smirked, satisfied with her newfound obedience. The Trapper released his hold over her, sending Meg sprawling to the floor. Her body was weak from the tribulations of the evening, Evan saw it in the strain of her muscles as she tried to prop herself back up again, “There’s no use in fighting it anymore, Meg Thomas. She has chosen you to become Her next vessel, and you _shall_ accept Her with open arms. As many of us have before you.”

Meg’s hand was pressed to the wound in her shoulder, taking its time to heal. The fiery defiance of her survivor nature lashed out – an animal trapped in a corner, “I won’t do it. If that’s what escaping six-hundred-and-sixty-six times does, then I won’t--”

Evan cut her off: “Then you will lose hope with each and every death. Every trial lost will be a step closer to becoming one with Her… entering the Void… your existence, _forgotten_.”

The way he spoke these words, the things he was saying… they sent dread through her. Somehow, Meg knew the Trapper was telling her the truth. Even through the mask he wore, she could see the truth of it in the way he smiled at her, enjoying every minute of this abnormal torture.

It was a true terror to behold.

“Fate of _all_ survivors, Meg… Tho_mas_,” Maxwell gargled, enunciating her name with great care.

The Nightmare continued, adding insult to injury: “Sprinting full-speed towards it unlike any survivor we’ve seen before.”

Frank crouched again by her ear with his smiley face mask taunting her, “And if you tell your survivor friends about it... guess what? You’ll only condemn them, too, making them wonder: what even _is_ the point of these trials? Why try to escape? Then off they’ll go, to the Void, to become a part of Her… all thanks… to _you_.”

Something in Meg snapped at that. At the mention of her friends. That they, too, would be faced with the same decision and be forced to keep it secret. That she would have to keep this to herself or else risk the chance of the others giving up and fading away. The weight of the truth of it all, the hatred she harbored for each of these monsters, the uncertainty of her fate… all the emotions of the evening swirled together and sparked an inferno of rage inside Meg.

She reached her palm up to the Legion’s face, catching him completely off-guard as she slammed his head into the wooden floor beside them. And then slammed it down _again_. The Hillybilly reached to restrain her, yanking her away from Frank who was stunned by the survivor’s action. In her frenzy, she spun on Max next.

Evan moved with grace as he gathered her wrists in a single motion, in a single hand, and held her up over the ground. Meg kicked and struggled and cursed him, but the giant man just watched her, drinking in her outburst with twisted fascination. Every kick was a deadened blow against a monster who could feel almost nothing.

“Yes, fight, Meg Thomas. Fight so the Entity Mother can drink in your hope,” the Trapper leaned her in as he interrupted her tantrum, “for when you face us, know that we, Her servants, will be especially cruel with you. Every trial will be a private nightmare orchestrated just for you by the Entity. Tonight… tonight was only the beginning. Tomorrow we are eager to see who She calls to hunt you. Know that whoever it is will show you no mercy. Pray that it is not me you face tomorrow, Meg Thomas,”

He threw her to the ground in the direction she had originally come from. It was like throwing a sack of flour, the way she collided with the ground in her weakened state. Meg was certain that she had knocked her cheekbone hard enough to bruise it. She tried to stand up, to run away from this horrid place, but a boot sprawled her back down onto the ground, “No, survivor _scum_, you will _crawl_ back to your pitiful Campfire. Crawl and remove yourself from our presence. We are done with your insolence.”

The Trapper’s voice was animalistic, dangerous and dark. She dared not look back at him as she obeyed his order now, fearful of what she might see or, perhaps, might trigger if she did.

The snickers of the other killers grew into catcalls and howls as Meg left behind the warmth of the hearth and plunged one hand deep into the freezing snow. Her teeth chattered from exhaustion and the sudden temperature change. Tears threatened to fall from the embarrassment of what was happening to her. She could feel their horrid red gazes watching her as she crawled away from them on all fours. Though she had long left the comforting light of the Lodge, it felt as though they were still ogling her from their corrupted sanctuary afar.

It wasn’t until their taunts dissipated far into the snow that Meg allowed herself to cry.


	5. Clinical Cynicism

Dawn never _really_ existed in the Realm. It was an illusion fabricated by the spidery bitch known to them only as ‘the Entity’. Meg hated the Entity more today than she had when she was first brought her. First _trapped_ here. She pulled her pillow over her head to block out the tolling of the Wraith’s bell, calling out in the distance:

_Ding, dong, ding, dong._

_Wake up, wake up!_

Meg ached all over, from her head to her toes. Every muscle screamed, every bone creaked, and there were bruises where bruises should never be. That wasn’t even counting the amount of blood she had soaked into her bed from all the wounds she had endured the previous evening. Crawling on her hands and knees through the woods had been torturous in the snow and her palms were covered with scratches and splinters. Her arms looked like she had wrestled with an angry cat. She prayed all her wounds would heal a little more before her next trial.

To make matters worse, she had left her favorite purple utility flashlight behind in all the chaos of the previous night. A true loss in her eyes. Getting those puppies back would be difficult. The Entity didn’t provide them too often, either, so the survivors horded them to themselves. She’d have to find one during her trials if she wanted to replace the one she lost.

As she stood up and stretched, she felt most of the pain subsiding. ‘Ghost aches’, they all called it. They didn’t last long and were only faint twinges of what had transpired. She still ached, yes. But the wounds themselves were healing away and the rest of the pain in her body numbed. She was fit enough for another trial, if the Entity wished to call her into one.

Meg prayed that wouldn’t be the case. That she wouldn’t be summoned. After the night she had had, facing one of those creatures in a trial today seemed wickedly unbearable. She hoped the Entity would show her a little sympathy. Maybe?

* * *

When she arrived at the campfire, the dawn above her had turned to dusk, a common trick the Entity used to rouse the survivors from their beds. They arrived, groggy, but alert. Ready to have their names called out. Claudette was already there, and Meg walked up beside her. They grabbed each other’s hands and squeezed in greeting.

“Heya,” Claudette smiled.

“Hey yourself,” Meg replied.

All the survivors around them stretched as they arrived, saying their ‘good mornings’ and exchanging hugs. Murmured conversations started up, and Claudette was no exception as she leaned in to whisper into Meg’s ear, “I heard you and David got a little _intimate_ last night,”

The flair to her cheeks was all the proof Claudette needed to know that the rumors _had_ been true. She raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes, “I thought you were saying he was such an asshole and you’d never go back to him again after what he did to you?”

Meg cringed, “Yeah, but… I don’t know, I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. And he just happened to be there when I needed a… a _distraction_.”

“Mhm,” Claudette was not sold on her excuse, “well, I for one—”

Their conversation was cut short when the Campfire’s heart crackled black and dimmed before bursting into an inferno. A signal that the time had come to gather round. The Entity was amongst them. The survivors all leaned in to listen, some with their arms crossed, others pretending not to care.

The voice it used was like the whispers of many people trying to make individual sounds to form coherent words. It was unnerving to hear it speak. But every day, it addressed them and every day they moved to obey her as she called out their names: “_Jake Park, Kate Denson, Adam Francis, William Overbeck_.”

The four stepped forward to present their scavenged offerings – if they decided to bring any. The fire gobbled them up with hungry crackles. From where Meg was standing, she couldn’t see who threw something in or even what they offered the Entity for their round. Not that she really cared. She could only tremble where she stood, dreading what was in store for her. The Entity next consumed the offering from whatever killer she had summoned for that trial. The fire burned a blinding red, before returning to its strange, black-hearted hue.

“_Gideon Meat Plant_.”

And off they went, the four of them waving (or saluting in Bill’s case) as they stepped into the fog, one-by-one. They disappeared into it, as they always did, the thickness of it swallowing them whole.

“_Ace Visconti, Dwight Fairfield, Quentin Smith, Jane Romero._”

Another round of survivors. Another round of offerings. This time, the Entity sent them all to Haddonfield.

“_David Tapp, Nea Karlsson, Ashley Williams, Laurie Strode_.”

Meg trembled herself into a mess. Claudette looked over her with a concerned raise of her eyebrows. They were forbidden to speak during this part, and so they had all developed a way of speaking with their faces and hands, especially during their trials when sound was the killer’s strongest sense. Silence was their shield.

Meg only shook her head at her friend.

The second to last group whooshed away, leaving only Claudette, Feng, David, Jeff, and her available for the final trial. Logs cracked in the mysterious fire as her voice called out for the final four survivors: “_Jeffrey Johansen, Claudette Morel, David King, Meg Thomas_.”

Hearing the thing say her name gave Meg chills and she trembled as she stepped forward with the other three. Had she heard the creature purr her name? Meg felt sick. The Entity had purposefully left her name for last, the survivor was sure of it.

She watched Jeff put out his hand and drop a sachet of some sort into the fire, Claudette flipped in a coin, and David tossed in a dirty bottle which Meg could only assume was a reagent to thicken the mist. When it was Meg’s turn to throw in an offering, her shaking hand tossed in a black salt statuette.

The Entity clicked through the flames at Meg’s offering.

Then it was the killer’s turn to offer something to it.

The dark-hearted flame flickered. _No offering._

Meg felt her stomach coil.

“_Lery’s Memorial Institute._”

Meg’s heart pounded in her ears as the location of their trial was announced. The memories of what happened there the previous night came flooding back. This map wasn’t the killer’s choosing?

It was now time for them to step into the fog. Her knees were trembling worse than if she had run ten miles. Who would the killer be? Would the Entity pair her with someone like Trapper or Legion, just to see her suffer? Meg prayed for mercy as the fog overwhelmed them.

When she next opened her eyes, they were at Lery’s, the piercing screams of unknown test subjects replaying on the nearby television screens over and over again. Meg had tried to watch them once. _Once_.

It wasn’t long before she and the other survivors rushed to the nearest generator to get to work.

They all knew what to do.

The only one amongst them who was newer to the process was Jeff, but the metalhead caught on quick. Meg was grateful that they could rely on him. The same couldn’t be said of her, unfortunately. Not knowing who it was that hunted them rattled Meg so much that, by the third failed attempt to connect the wires to power the generator, David cast her a murderous look. Her skittishness would get them all killed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in shame.

David hissed, “Get yer head on right, Meg,”

In an instant, there was static gathering in the air around them. Meg could taste the electricity as if a lightning storm was about to roll in. And storm it was. All four of them cried out as the metal of the generator became electrified.

There was only one killer that Meg knew of with a sick fascination for electricity.

The Doctor towered over them with a fist held high, charging his electro-convulsion for another wave. Meg, however, had long gone after the first spark had singed them. He would only get one scream from her that trial, that was all. The survivor was determined to live another night. To escape from the clutches of the Doctor. It was no Trapper or Legion, to Meg’s relief. She would try to lead her friends to victory, if she could.

She disappeared to the other side of the building to work on a generator. One glinted down the hallway and Meg sprinted to it. Her fingers had only just skimmed the object when she heard Jeff cry out in pain somewhere, his voice echoing through the halls of the haunted place. It set Meg’s anxiety through the roof.

The Trapper’s words floated through her mind as she worked the generator with her nimble fingers: “_when you face us, know that we, Her servants, will be especially cruel with _you.”

David’s voice now added to the sounds of torment.

Sweat gathered on the back of her neck as Meg’s generator roared to life.

Off in the distance, David screamed out in bloody terror as the Doctor came down on him. From where she crouched, she could actually see the Doctor. She could see him standing over David, staring, relaxed, in the direction of Meg’s finished generator.

Chills ran down Meg’s spine.

Another generator in the distance powered on, drawing the Doctor’s attention to that instead of her.

_Only three more._

Meg bolted, already on the hunt for the next generator to work on. Somewhere behind her, David’s scream of agony wailed out as the Doctor hooked him for the Entity. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as guilt stopped her in her tracks. It was her fault that he had gotten caught in the first place. Meg resolved herself to creep her way back in the direction of the cry. A cautionary glance around the corner to make sure the killer was nowhere in sight before she ran in to make a save. Claudette was already there, however, and beat Meg to the hook by a few seconds.

Another generator powered in the distance, courtesy of Jeff, Meg assumed.

As Claudette unhooked David, Meg noticed her friend let out a gasp of pain. Meg suspected that the Doctor was running something fierce when glimpses of the back of Claudette’s hand while they healed David revealed the ominous visage of a skull and blood oozed from the symbol. It was a sign that the killer had marked her for death due to her actions. It was an ability that some of the killers used on occasion. Every trial, every killer was different. The powers the Entity granted them all – both killers and survivors – were unique. The survivors had to be ever vigilant.

Heavy footsteps and the hammering of her heart told her that _he_ was closing in behind Meg, but they had to finish patching David up first. Claudette ran, understandably since she was still marked, but Meg committed to her task. She cinched the last binding to his head wound, helping to stop the bleeding, before turning to face the blinding red stain bearing down on her. The survivor threw out her arms to block the Doctor’s approach, trying to give her teammate a running start and a fighting chance.

Her efforts were in vain as the Doctor brushed her aside with his punishment rod, sending Meg sprawling into one of the nearby rooms. He didn’t take chase with her and instead went in the direction that Claudette had run, his hand raised to deliver his shock therapy to any unfortunate survivor that crossed his path.

Meg felt her head spin as she wobbled down the hallway to another section of the facility. She needed to find a generator, fast. Her team was counting on it. Meg knew the Doctor would show them no mercy this trial, least of all her.

Off in the distance, she heard Claudette scream in terror, the Doctor finally catching her with one of his nasty shocks. It was only a matter of time before her screams of fear turned into cries of pain. Meg shuddered. What if _she_ had beaten Claudette to the hook?

When she found an untouched generator nestled in the library, the survivor girl gagged. Memories of the previous night came crawling back to her despite her best attempts to kick them away. Perhaps this one might be too much for her to work on for now. Her hesitation would likely cost them the trial, Meg thought with bitterness, especially as she heard Claudette scream out. The Doctor had taken the botanist down in a single smack of his weapon.

As Meg moved from the library to find another generator to work on, she thought she saw the Doctor in the corner of her eye. She knew it couldn’t possibly be him when Claudette let out a scream of pain from across the facility. Her best friend was being skewered on a sacrificial hook.

On the other hand, however, Meg was safe – for now.

A generator popped off in the distance, leaving them with only one left to complete.

As she turned a corner, Meg bonked heads with David. He reached out to stabilize her as she placed a hand on her forehead, “Ow, sorry,” she whispered.

He placed a finger on his lips as they heard something shuffling towards them. The pair ducked into a nearby unlit room, keeping their breathing low. The heartbeat grew in their ears and they heard another set of footsteps. The Doctor swung, Meg could hear the massive thing whiff through the air before it collided with something. Specifically, Jeff. He cried out in agony as he went down on the other side of the wall from where the two of them squatted. If Jeff was here, that meant that no one was helping Claudette.

Meg made a face at David but he only shook his head.

Then the floor where they crouched sparked to life. They both cried out in surprise and scrambled to escape. The Doctor, coming around the corner from where he downed Jeff, swung for David first, giving his back a hearty ‘thud’ with the weapon. The rugby player cried out as a spray of blood misted the air, limping away as the Doctor gave chase.

This was Meg’s chance to help Claudette.

She stumbled through the halls to where her friend hung from a hook, hoping to get there before the Entity intervened. Every step Meg took, she left behind a small pool of blood. The more they ran, the more they left a trail to be followed. Footprints in snow or mud, dirt up a staircase, grass flattened… the killers all used these to track them down. Meg was leaving a lot of trail to track, she was sure of it, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was saving her teammate, her friend, from the horrible meat hook she was hanging from. Everything in Meg’s body ached as she willed herself to go faster, to get there before the Entity did.

The runner turned a corner and could see Claudette hanging there.

“M-Meg,” her friend called out hoarsely.

_With time to spare_, Meg thought with relief.

The pain in her shoulder where the Doctor had struck her stung as Meg hobbled down the hall as fast as she could, “I-I’m coming, just h-hold on,” she whispered between pants.

The Entity only interfered when the survivor had been on the hook for too long, forcing them to struggle for their survival. Seeing how badly they wanted to live through another night. Despite the Entity’s twistedness, it believed in fairness and always granted survivors the same amount of time on the hooks before interfering.

But as she approached the hook, the Entity’s insectoid limbs branched from above Claudette, coming down on her with hungry clicks. Claudette’s scream of surprise echoed down the hallway and into Meg’s ears.

“What?!” Claudette screamed out as her hands grabbed the first branch that threatened to impale her, “_There was still time_!”

Meg felt terror seize her and she hesitated at the base of the hook. Had the Entity… arrived _early_… _on purpose_? Hands trembled as she reached up and pulled Claudette off, warding away the Entity’s fingers. The mark of the killer burned into Meg’s hands and she drew them into her chest as blood spurted out.

They were both panting as Meg moved to bind her friend’s wounds. They only had a limited amount of time before the hunter returned to strike down his prey. After so many trials, Meg had developed a passive instinct that told her when the killer was around. Today that skill was even more prominent. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end even as Claudette gasped, “Meg!”

She had no time to react as stars danced across her eyes. The next thing she knew, Meg was face-down on the ground, her vision swimming and head throbbing. Claudette was screaming in terror somewhere down the hall, and the Doctor was hot on her trail, his footsteps thundering in Meg’s concussed head. Her friend’s scream and flopping body made Meg cringe, “N-no!”

The Doctor stomped into the room a second later, Claudette struggling on his shoulder. His bulging eyes looked over Meg as she gritted her teeth against the pain of her head injury. He kicked her onto her back, making her cry out, “_Ack, _s-stop!”

He paid her no mind as he made his way to the nearest hook.

“Claudette! No!”

That terrifying, forced, stretched smile of the Doctor was beaming down on her now. Acknowledging her and drinking in her desperate pleas. Then he turned to the hook and threw the still fighting Claudette onto it.

“_No_!”

But it was too late for her friend. The Entity consumed Claudette as soon as she was sacrificed, raising her corpse up to the Otherside. Her body lifted away into the Entity’s embrace above Meg. Metal clanked to the linoleum floor, the only evidence that remained of her friend, fallen and disabled right next to Meg’s hands. Claudette would stumble in from the fog tomorrow, with a fresh body and newfound strength, but that didn’t make Meg feel confident about her current trial. The only thing she could hope for was that David had managed to get Jeff up. If he had, there was still a chance for them. But with Claudette gone, it was going to be a hard-fought escape.

It was likely they might not make it.

The Doctor loomed over her and Meg scowled, “Hook me, then.”

He pressed a hard boot square into her chest as he shook his head, making a distinct clicking sound with his tongue as he did. Air rushed from her lungs and Meg felt the bones in her chest threaten to crack before he relented. His icy eyes glossed over her. In an instant, the Doctor was gone, leaving her lying there dazed and wondering if she had imagined the whole thing.


End file.
